Dearly, Beloved Part 44

Stroking my hair, my father said, "That we need to turn our attention outward. Get to the bottom of this." Withdrawing his hand, he added, "Lopez got in touch with me. Said you called him to talk your way into an invitation to Marblanco."

"I did." Fighting the fatigue this topic caused, I asked, "Can I go? I don't want to go anywhere, but if I have to ..."

"Yes. You should go with Miss Roe. If only to get her settled." With that, he leaned forward to kiss my brow. "My little miracle."

I made a face at that, even if I was relieved-especially at the suggestion that my stay at Marblanco might be brief. Before I could figure out a way to wheedle a timeline out of my father, Dr. Salvez burst in. "Lower the screen. Turn on NVIC."

Reaching across Dad's desk, I grabbed the remote and did both. "This just in." Zombie reporter Marcus Maripose was reading directly from a digidiary. "Again, I apologize for the spottiness of these reports, but this is live. The Punks are abandoning the Border Zone. We have video footage of the Punks simply ... walking away. No one has contacted the New Victorian government to negotiate terms of surrender, or even said ... anything." He looked extremely puzzled.

So did the rest of us.

"What?" Papa asked, his face going slack.

"They wouldn't do that," I said. "The Punk extremists hate us." They'd fought their futile battles at the border for decades. It'd been their own homegrown terrorist plots that led my people to banish them to the South originally.

"I'm inclined to agree with you," said Salvez. "But they must mean that the extremists are leaving. The army wouldn't up and leave even if they wanted peace. They wouldn't leave the border unprotected."

"Exactly," I said. "The army's just there to keep an eye on things." That was what Bram had told me. That only the extremists cared about attacking the New Victorians; that most Punks were more concerned with building their own civilization.

A second later NVIC started showing footage, and indeed, part of the Punk army was moving away from the border. Their walking tanks and huge war machines-heavy, mechanical, "old-fas.h.i.+oned" and yet terribly dangerous-formed ma.s.sive columns of retreat. They appeared to be escorting the un-uniformed men marching with them-the mercs and extremists. Behind them the rest of the army watched them go. Apparently they were meant to stay behind.

Just like that, the fight was over?

I slid my hands over my face. It seemed like one thing after another was happening, the entire world collapsing like a row of dominoes. And I had no idea what sort of pattern was being formed yet.

"This is a good thing," Salvez said. There was no joy in his voice. "Isn't it?"

"I don't know." I kept my eyes on the screen. "I don't know anything anymore."

Chas came back that day. She'd led the AG minions on an epic chase up the Honduran coast before losing them near Belize. She had souvenirs for us, trinkets from seaside towns. Pastel pinwheels and taffy. When Samedi asked her about the Rolls, she shoved a piece of candy into his mouth and told him to treasure his ignorance.

That night, with Matilda's help, I packed. As she shoved petticoats and shoes into my trunk, it occurred to me that I ought to take my ident.i.ty papers along, just in case. I didn't have my chip anymore. So I went to the study and started combing through my father's desk, looking for my birth certificate, anything that seemed useful.

After twenty minutes of fruitless searching I stumbled upon a water-stained folder. I flicked through it out of curiosity-but what I found astounded me. Schematics, budgets, architectural plans. It wasn't until I got to the written pages in the back that I realized my father had been designing a school, or perhaps some sort of inst.i.tution or asylum. The building designs were High Victorian and beautiful, with gardens, sunny hallways, operating theaters, and ...

... a graveyard. A lovely, sheltered graveyard, for the people who would invariably die there.

Back in the jungle, he'd said he had something he wanted to keep a surprise. This must be it. It was right after he talked about my education-he must have been dreaming of starting some sort of co-mortal academy or college. Maybe he'd been considering the idea all during his stint with Company Z.

My father had looked to the future. Even if only for a few weeks, a few months. He'd wanted to do something great. And New London had trapped him, too.

Closing the folder, I put it on the desk and wiped my eyes.

"Are you all right?"

Dr. Chase was in the doorway. I nodded. "Yes." I wasn't sure if I ought to share my father's secret, so I told her, "I just don't want to leave. Bram. All of you. Especially when we have so much to do."

"It won't be forever." Beryl came forward and wrapped me in her arms. I shut my eyes, taking in the powdery scent of her perfume. "And it's not that far away. You'll just have to commute to the fight."

"It seems a world away." I'd tried hard to avoid thinking about Bram, but now the idea of leaving him seemed immediate, inevitable, and my rib cage felt too small for my heart.

Dr. Chase withdrew and looked into my eyes. "Miss Dearly ..." She seemed to win some internal debate, and guided me to a chair. She sat by my side. "I don't know why I want to tell you this, but I do. Maybe it's because I see some of myself in you."

"What?"

"As a girl, I had a happy life. I grew up in a sweet New Victorian town in Venezuela. Close to the border. Postcard-pretty. My father was the sheriff." Beryl straightened up. "And when Baldwin showed up at our farm, I ran away with him hours later. I traded everything for him. And then ... I refused to let him go. I turned him into a zombie. I, too, have made reckless decisions that have brought me both elation and pain."

It wasn't that I didn't know what to say-it was that my brain suddenly wasn't sure how to operate my mouth. "Huh?"

Beryl actually laughed a little, before pressing her hand over the nub of hair at the nape of her neck. "G.o.d, it was so long ago. After he gave up smuggling, Baldwin started running these engineering cons. He showed up with this machine he claimed could draw water out of thin air, out of the earth. It was an amazing piece of tech-and a total scam. Dad ran him off, but ... he had me. You should have seen him when he was alive, and younger. 'Das.h.i.+ng' doesn't begin to do him justice."

"I can believe it," I said.

"I guess you could say I became his a.s.sistant. Ran his scams with him. Baldwin was good with machines-his dad was a smuggler before him, and he grew up keeping his getaway carriages in working order. I grew up fixing things around town. We'd build these contraptions that made people think we'd come up with some spectacular new technology-replication of objects, perpetual motion, teleportation. Mom taught me calligraphy in home school, so I used to work up fake patents, fake endors.e.m.e.nts. Not under either of our real names, mind." She plucked at her blouse. "I guess now's as good a time as any to admit neither of us has a Ph.D. in anything? Diplomas are exceptionally easy to forge."

That thought had never even crossed my mind. "You're kidding. You're not a doctor?"

"No. I'm an old maid, I'm still Miss Chase. Anyway, people'd invest in the machines, and we'd take the money and run. That's what I have amnesty for. We ran the con on the NV side a few times."

"Wow."

"I know. I regret it. And it wasn't until later I learned how dark his life truly was. That people like the Ratcatcher existed. But by that point I didn't care. He told me I could have adventure, and I could have him, and he never lied to me about either."

"How'd he become a zombie, then?"

Beryl seemed to shrink a bit. "We were running the scam at some Punk's place. She was a dangerous mark-she was also into moving contraband. That's how Baldwin met her. She operated off an aerial platform in the desert. I think one of her men must have come in from a smuggling operation sick." She looked at her hands, which were starting to shake. "Those were the worst three days of my life, with that dead thing on the other side of the door wanting in, and Baldwin dying in my arms from a gunshot another man had fired, and ... when it looked like I was going to lose him, I let the zombie in. I'd seen another victim reanimate and keep his mind. At least, it seemed that way. So I got it to bite him. I knew I'd lose him forever, otherwise. And I do love him. I do." She licked her lips. "After it bit him ... and I just let it in, and used him as a human s.h.i.+eld, it wasn't hard ... but ... afterward, the host turned on me, and I killed it with a marble statue. Just hammered, over and over, till its brains leaked out. And then I sat down with the statue in my lap and prayed I wouldn't have to do the same thing to Baldwin."

I didn't dare try to formulate a response to this. She didn't look at me. There was much more behind their relations.h.i.+p than I'd ever guessed. My chest tightened as I realized just how hard she had fought to stay with him, in every sense of the word.

"After he reanimated ... I still had him, but there's no way I can ever atone for what I did. Especially after it became clear that if we talked, if we went forward with what we'd seen, the Punk government would kill him and lock me up. That's when we crossed the border for the last time. That's when Company Z found us."

At a loss for words, I decided that my only option was to hug her. She returned the gesture gratefully. "My biggest fear is that one day he'll decay enough to tell me the truth-that he hates me for what I did to him. Like I said, I'm filled with regret. But sometimes I think of that day ... and I realize that I was never braver, never more purposeful than I was when I followed him, and when I killed him so that he would live. And that's what I want you to know, no matter where your life takes you, Nora ... that you shouldn't be afraid to fight, to break every rule, every law, dare every dare. Not as long as it's for the ones you love."

It was impossible to let her go after she reminded me of that. She indulged me, holding me, even singing to me at one point. I'd forgotten what it was like to be embraced and comforted by a woman. How cool and soft it was. My mother was once like that.

I'd lost so many people. I would fight like h.e.l.l for the ones I had now. Whatever shape that fight took.

After my packing was finished, I wandered through my house in the dark, as I had a short four months ago. It was different now, crowded with cots and everyone's things. It actually appeared lived-in.

I wanted to remember it this way. Forever.

Just as I was pondering the parlor, a cold hand brushed my arm. I turned around and saw it was Bram, and instantly moved to capture his neck. He hugged me back in the way I loved, the way that very nearly hurt. In one hand, he held a bouquet of wildflowers. "Sorry it took so long. I rode the rails, but had to walk partway. I figured if this is going to become a tradition, I should start bringing gifts."

"What kept you? Did you find Coalhouse?"

Bram carried me to the sofa and set me down, before collapsing beside me and handing me the flowers. He was filthy; he was breathtaking. I set the flowers aside and brushed his windblown hair out of his face, giving him the time he needed to figure out what he wanted to say. "I found him. He wanted to go off on his own for a while."

I felt my shoulders rise. "I'm sorry."

Bram didn't move. "He asked me to kill him."

There was nothing I could say in response to that. The very idea made my blood run cold. I guided Bram's head to my shoulder and let my cheek rest upon his brow.

"I would've done it. Coalhouse decided against it in the end, but I would've done it. I talked a good game when I was there, but now ..."

"What?"

"I don't even know." I hated to hear Bram sound so lost, so exhausted. "Because I knew it was the right thing to do. That if he wanted to die, and couldn't do it himself, one of his friends should ..." He gave up.

"You're right," I tried. "I mean, maybe I don't have any say, since I'm alive, but I think you're right."

Bram pulled back and looked into my eyes. "You always have a say." He gestured at nothing. "It's just hard to actually confront it. He was upset because he kept watching himself fail and make bad decisions, but ... I've failed more than he ever has. Three times now I should've gone full-tilt and didn't-and look what's happened. I tried to play it careful when we came to fetch you, and the Laz hit New London. I didn't tell you what Wolfe was doing, and Sam almost got killed. I didn't go after the Changed-"

Shaking my head, I said, "There's nothing wrong with being the voice of reason, Bram. You're always there when we need you."

"I just get so confused sometimes. About what to do, who to side with." He kissed my forehead. "You're the only thing I'm never confused about."

"Believe me, I understand." My free hand flattened on his chest and I studied my fingers, trying to find the words. "Meanwhile ... the Punks have left the Border Zone."

Bram went stiff. "What?"

"They're abandoning it. Not saying why. Part of the army was left behind." I told him everything-about the Punks, about Michael, about Marblanco. He told me about Allister Genetics, leading me once more to wonder what the h.e.l.l that man was up to.

"G.o.d." Bram shut his eyes. "What if something's going on down there? What if the Punks are reacting to a resurgence of hosts, or something?"

"I don't know," I told him honestly. "It's d.a.m.n weird."

Bram opened his eyes. "I told Laura I'd find her." When I made a soft go on motion with my head, he continued thoughtfully, "I'll admit, the last few months? I haven't quite known what to do with myself. It's like when I first became a zombie. I knew I had to move forward, but I wasn't sure what to. Everything was so new. I've kind of felt that way again lately, but now ..."

"Idea?"

"Yeah. Both of us-we got used to zombies in a controlled environment. A place where mad zombies were put down, and the rest of us were all on the same page, with people around to guide us. The zombies in this city-they don't have that. They don't have anyone teaching them how to deal with their condition, with the dark thoughts ... with the hunger. They're in a place where people turn against them at the speed of a newscast. So we've had zombies las.h.i.+ng out, thinking in terms of us vs. them." He lifted a hand to my curls. "In a way, both Hagens and Martira were right. We need to help each other. Like your dad helped me. I think that part has gotten lost in all the violence, in all the vaccine work, in the move up north. In the loss of Z-Comp. We can't just hand out meds and st.i.tch people up. We have to lead."

"How do we start?"

"I figure by reaching out to as many zombies as possible. Z-Comp vets, the members of the Changed that Hagens lied to. Set it up so we can defend each other. Especially if Company Z is in some kind of danger, and we've still got these masked people to worry about." He looked into my eyes. "But to do that, I have to go find them. And Hagens. I could be on the road for a while."

"'A while?'" A hefty drive between us I could handle, but I didn't like the sound of that. "How long is a while?"

"I don't know." He lowered his lids. "Depends on where Hagens has gone. I figure she's our best connection to whoever has it out for Z-Comp."

I sat forward. "Then you're not going without me."

"I can't ask you to do that." He captured my tiny hand in both of his and kissed it fervently. "There's no way Dr. Dearly would agree."

"Bram ..."

"Let me say it." He rubbed his dry cheek on my knuckles, like a cat marking its owner. "I'm dead, Nora. I'm a Punk. I have no money and no station and no name-I have nothing to give you. So I can't ask you to change your life for me, to give up anything for me. It's not fair to you. I'm not going to be here very long. And I can't just while away my days-I have to do something with the time I have left. The few extra years I shouldn't've had. And now I don't think that's going to happen in a lab."

"Do you love me?" I whispered.

Bram's eyes softened and he slid the fingers of his right hand into my hair, holding my head still. Slowly, he dipped forward and kissed me, and I leaned into it, my eyes shutting. The kiss lasted for a beautiful instant, before his left hand slid down to my forearm and encountered my bandage. He drew back to look at it, his eyes questioning.

"Proof for your argument. Some of the Changed bit me," I had to confess. I felt strange about it-like I'd cheated on him, even though I knew he'd just been joking before.

His gaze lingered on the bandage, before he uttered a wolfish rumble-a noise so warm, and somehow possessive, that it made my head feel hot. He kissed me again, and his lips tumbled down my cheek, my neck, his hand daring to rise to my chest, his fingers hooking into the bodice of my dress to pull it down, to reveal more flesh for kissing.

And as he did that, he spoke.

"I love you, Nora. I will think you beautiful when I have no eyes left to see. I will remember your voice when my ears go. You can't hold onto me forever, but I will hold onto you until I am nothing but dirt."

I could feel tears flowing down my skin, down my neck. I pushed him back with sudden violence and started to unb.u.t.ton his s.h.i.+rt as well. He looked both surprised and ecstatic. I kissed his collarbone, and he leaned down again, capturing my mouth. As his lips moved against mine, my fingers slid inside his s.h.i.+rt, and found a hole. Pulling back, I bent my head down to look at his ice-white chest. He'd been newly shot. Parting his s.h.i.+rt, I found the wound, dry and small.

"Michael got me," he said, voice throaty. "More work for Evola."

The hole was a tiny new addition to the web of scars on his body, but unlike the others, I hated it. In spite of all I'd just said, the idea that Michael might've gotten his way sent a chill up my spine, and I found myself once more mentally questing after a safe place, somewhere, anywhere, we wouldn't have to worry about such things, where we could live together in peace. An idea that was both cold and hot; pa.s.sionately longed after, yet turned to out of fear, and hated for that reason.

And then understanding hit me.

It wasn't safety that I craved. It was just that idea of Bram and me, against the world. Because he was never meant to be mine; I was never meant to be his. His being a zombie had nothing to do with this, but it actually made it all the sweeter. The relative seconds of time that he could offer me were more precious than any eternity, because we would have so few of them.

That was why I couldn't hide. That was why I couldn't, shouldn't, would never let him go, or hesitate a single second longer than I had to. Like Dr. Chase said.

I lifted my head up, closer to his, parting my lips in invitation. He didn't need further encouragement. He made up the distance between us and took the kiss I wanted to give him.

"Marry me," I whispered when his lips left mine. "Tonight."

"What?" he asked, his eyes growing huge.

It took me a moment to process what I'd just said, and I giggled madly when I found that, yes, I'd meant it. "Marry me. I'm proposing! Do you want me to get down on one knee? I'll do it."

Bram just stared at me. "But ... you threw that book away when I joked about the wedding part, and ... I held off on telling you I loved you because I was afraid I'd freak you out!"

"Oh, I'm absolutely terrified!" I giggled again, a bit disturbed to find I couldn't control it. "But I don't know how long I have to be terrified, so ... let's just do it!"

"But that's just the point! I won't ... be here," Bram said. I heard the unspoken words in his sentence: very long. I heard them, and I ignored them.

"It's not how long you're with me," I promised him. "It's how you're with me. You just said you couldn't ask me to give up anything. You don't. You never have. You give me more than you could ever take. So let's just embrace the fact that we are two weird freaking people, and do it."

Bram took my arms in his hands, as he had up near the gun cabinet a week ago, and looked at me, hard. Then he kissed me. "I want to, at some point," he said, before kissing me again. "I really, really want to. But ..." Another kiss. "You're seventeen. You can't get married until you're twenty-one."

"Oh, come on! How do you know that?"

"It's in the FAQ section in the back of the Bibles the Cathedral provides," he explained, with another kiss. "Ma.s.s is incredibly boring, do you know that?"

"Okay, that whole voice of reason thing? I take it back. It's really annoying."

Bram laughed fully, the rich sound that I adored, and pulled me close. "Wow."